


Magnitudes of Self-Deception

by snapeslittleblackbuttons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 04:04:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13942215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapeslittleblackbuttons/pseuds/snapeslittleblackbuttons
Summary: Ginny has discovered something about Remus's past, and she's going to use her newfound knowledge to get Harry back.A/N: I'm thinking this one should list, "from the sick mind of sslb" as the author because this one is dark, guys. Snape is not a nice guy, and Ginny... well. You might not likey. Read at your own risk.





	Magnitudes of Self-Deception

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [TheForbiddenFruit](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TheForbiddenFruit) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Something from the past has been revealed...  
> Will Ginny help those involved accept what happened years ago? Or will she use her knowledge bring destruction to those around her?  
> Written for the 2018 BtBFN Forbidden Fruit Comp.
> 
> Harry Potter is not mine.

****

 

**Prologue: Hogwarts 1979**

“We can’t. Not anymore.”

“What you mean is ‘you won’t’.”

“Fine. I won’t.”

“Why?”

“You _know_ why.”

The boy shifted his weight, and tugged the sleeve of his threadbare robes towards his hand in a vain attempt to hide how short they’d become. While he rather enjoyed that his lanky frame towered above nearly everyone in his year, growing out of robes too quickly was inconvenient for someone of his means.

“Tell me. Say it.” He tried to keep a pleading bitterness out of his voice. He failed.

“I can’t. I won’t,” the girl repeated, sniffing derisively as she took in his too-small robes and gathered her bag to her for her escape, the ice in her voice at odds with the warmth of her hair. She locked her eyes on his. “Because Sirius forbids it.”

 

* * *

 

**1995**

**Part 1: Tonks**

“I want to try, Remus. I mean, why not give it a go?”

So they’d finally, _finally_ gotten to it: the conversation Remus had avoided for months. Here, in this ancient room at Twelve, Grimmauld, she’d trapped him, and he could no longer do a damn thing about it.

Except give her an answer.

He moved slightly on the bed, the shift causing the grey linens to release a tiny cloud of dust in protest. “I have nothing to offer you, Dora. _Nothing_. Do you understand? And there’s no guarantee…”

“The Lycanthropy. Yeah, I know.”

Tonks stalked toward Remus’s battered leather briefcase on top of the dresser, open to expose the objects within. She bent her head to examine the spare contents, brushing her fingertips gently against neat stacks of papers and the white edges of a few scant photographs.

“That case—and the trunk on the floor—are the only possessions I have in the world.” Tonks looked up to meet his eyes in the mirror. “How can I make you understand?” he continued, “I’ll never be able to give you what you need.”

It had been hard enough to corner him; she was not about to surrender without some sort of fight. Tonks twisted to face him, her elbow bumping a corner of the open leather case. She glanced down as it rattled against the mirror. The perfect piles of parchment and pictures had slid into a single meaningless lump. She sighed. She was always destroying the order of things, wasn’t she? “I don’t care about any of that, and you know it.”

Remus shifted his gaze to his lap where he was holding a nearly empty glass of Firewhisky. “You ask too much of me, Dora. I…I just can’t,” he said softly. “I’m never going to be enough.”

Tonks turned back to explore the spoiled case. Her fingertip stuck on the corner of a photograph peeking out of the mess. “I’m not asking you to marry me,” she said with a chuckle in an empty attempt to be flippant. “Let’s just go on one date. Just one. And we’ll see. We can take our time. You…can take your time.”

She freed the old photograph from the jumble. A significantly younger Remus Lupin shared the frame with a strikingly pretty girl with long, straight hair. He reached out and cupped his hands around her face, passionately, possessively, and dragged her into a deep, nearly unending kiss.

“Who is…?” Tonks sputtered.

The younger Remus’s fingertips threaded deeper and deeper in the girl’s hair, while he pulled her in desperately, as if he wished nothing more than to drown in her. The girl closed her eyes in a silent sigh; the sepia Remus seemed to moan. It was far too intimate, far, far too personal, for Tonks to feel comfortable continuing to watch.

She looked away from the seemingly unquenchable desire endlessly replaying in her fingers, and closed her eyes.

“Wait—wait. Is this Lily Potter?”

She swiveled toward him, photograph in hand. Remus coloured.

“Dora, don’t. Please.” He pursed his lips as if he would say nothing more.

“Wait. You two were together? You guys were are thing?”

“What does it matter?”

“Gods, you, Snape, James—what the fuck?”

He was silent for a moment, staring down at his lap. He took a long swallow of his drink. Finally, he said softly, “She was a singular beauty. Graceful. Intelligent. One couldn’t help but love her.”

“So, she was all the things I’ll never be,” Tonks muttered. He looked up. “Sirius too, then?” she asked. “Were all of you screwing her?”

He watched her silently.

She snorted. “Never mind. Don’t answer.”

“Dora, look, it was a long time ago. It’s complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

Tonks stared at him, silently daring him to voice a word she wouldn’t be able to comprehend.

He cleared his throat and whispered, “As a Muggleborn, she always felt inferior. Lily wanted acceptance. She needed it. Craved it. It was all she talked about after she befriended me on the train First Year. If there was one thing I understood, it was that.” Remus warily met her eye. “By third year, she and Severus were much more than friends.” He gifted her a sad smile. “The three of us never stopped wanting her, though.” He took a deep drink of Firewhisky. “When Sirius approached her and offered all of us if she would break up with Severus, she didn’t even hesitate. That was the bargain: we would all be hers—all except Peter, of course—if she dropped Severus.” Remus looked at her pleadingly. “I can’t…talk about it. Like I said, you wouldn’t understand. But Lily was ours. Ours.”

Tonks gathered her voice. “Was Sirius still screwing her after she was married to James? Were you?”

His flinch spoke the answer his voice didn’t. “She was kind to me,” he whispered after the span of a breath. “And James didn’t care.”

She just barely stopped her hair from deepening to an angry blood-red.

“Do you still love her?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“What does it matter?”

“You asked that already.”

He didn’t respond immediately. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Tonks rotated the photograph in her fingers, watching the sepia lovers intertwine. She felt sick. How many lives would Lily Potter ruin from the grave?

“So, this isn’t about how many galleons in your vault, and it’s not about infecting me. It’s about some depraved witch that shared all of your four posters while she fucked with your heads.”

“Dora—”

“Now I know why Severus hates all of you.”

She should run. She knew it. She should run away from this broken man, and his twisted past that had nothing in common with his Lycanthropy. She started across the room to the door.

“None of that matters. Look, Dora, I’m too old for you—”

“Stop with the excuses, Remus! It’s never been about me, or us! It’s always been about her—” Tonks tripped on some invisible debris on the oak floor. “Dammit!”

Remus caught her eye. “She’s a part of who I am.” He took a deep breath. “And take it from me, we can’t change who we are. No one can.”

She allowed herself to huff a bitter laugh. “I think you’ve forgotten exactly who you’re talking to,” she said, and thankfully, miraculously, made it out of the room without falling on her face.

 

**One Week Later**

The aroma of cinnamon in the Chelsea buns—and the whisper of citrusy bergamot in the Earl Grey—must have addled her mind. For a few blissful moments in the kitchen at Twelve, Grimmauld, Tonks had actually believed that Remus wouldn’t give their relationship a chance because of their age difference, the Lycanthropy, or his lack of means.

Merlin, what was wrong with her? A steaming teapot and a motherly voice were all it took for the photograph of the former lovers to seem insignificant.

Tonks knew better, of course.

She blinked and set her teacup down. It rattled against the saucer.

“I need to ask you something, Molly. Something that’s, well, hard to talk about. Remus said that he’s too old for me, and that he can’t support a family. And there’s, you know, the other thing…” Even though she had been the one to seek Molly’s advice, Tonks found she could not continue.

The older woman gifted her a knowing smile. “What is it, dear?”

She took a deep breath. “How can I tell if they’re just excuses? That it’s not something else entirely?”

Molly gave her a searching look. “Is that what your heart tells you they are? Excuses?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s simple enough,” Molly said, reaching out a fleshy, mottled hand to pat Tonks’s own. “Unless there’s someone else, he’ll come around.”

Is this why she had come to sit by this woman at the Black Family’s battered wooden table? So she could hear words of encouragement, convincing her to give Remus a chance?

No, that was _not_ why she was here.

She needed to hear Molly tell her to run. And, if she needed to hear that, she’d set Molly up to fail.

And maybe herself, too.

Tonks pressed on.

“What if there is, I mean _was_ , someone else? Someone he hasn’t gotten over? Someone he hasn’t seen in years?”

“Someone else, eh? Good question, my dear. If he’s still holding on, maybe all he needs to do is see her once more, and they could get all that sorted? Get everything out in the open. You know, so he can move on.”

Tonks smiled sadly. It’s not like Remus could get things sorted that quite that easily, now, could he? But she couldn’t blame the woman: Molly was doing her best.

“Just be yourself, dear. He’ll come around.”

“I hope so,” Tonks said, trying to brighten her smile. “Listen, Molly, I should be going. Thank you for everything.”

And from the hall just outside the cramped kitchen, Ginny Weasley turned away and silently ascended the uneven stairs.

* * *

 

**Part 2: Ginny**

Ginny padded into the kitchen at Twelve, Grimmauld, hunting for coffee. It was rather late in the day to find any, but knowing her mother’s penchant for anticipating the needs of the rather full house, she thought she might search for some anyway.

Harry looked up from _The Prophet_ folded on the table next to his Butterbeer, and nodded silently at her, his face expressionless. Apparently, it was late enough for a Butterbeer, which meant not only was she not likely to find the coffee she needed, she was likely not to get much more out of Harry than a nod.

She suppressed a sigh. Gods, she was tired of Harry’s games. Tired of his attempts to cool off their relationship. Tired of having him ignore her. Tired of his nods, instead of his smiles.

Ginny opened her mouth to say something to him—anything at all _—_ when she heard heavy footsteps approaching the kitchen from the hall.

“Wotcher, Harry,” Tonks said, breezing by Ginny with uncharacteristic grace, and settling in next to Harry at the long table. “What’s the good word?”

“Hey, Tonks.” Harry beamed.

_Stupid git. She’s not flirting with you. That’s how she is with everyone._

“Any Butterbeer left?”

“I’ll bet. I’ll get you one.” Harry scrambled up from the table to rummage through the refrigerator. Apparently, Tonks’s mere presence caused him to forget how to cast an _Accio_. Ginny turned away and rolled her eyes.

Harry handed an open bottle to Tonks and sat back down.

“Thanks, love,” she said, winked, and took a long swallow.

Harry coloured at the playful affection and appeared, at least to Ginny, to look rather smug. She wanted to fucking kill Tonks and her fucking ridiculous endearments.

“I have to say, Harry, your eyes are the most smashing green.”

“Everyone says that I have my mother’s eyes,” he said, turning an impossibly deeper red.

“Your mother’s? Really?” Tonks’s face contorted into a rather odd expression, one Ginny could not decipher, then finally resolved itself into a tight smile.

Well, if Harry was going to continue to ignore her, Ginny might as well get the hell out of the kitchen. She got up stiffly and stalked down the narrow hall to the library, leaving the two to enjoy each other’s company without her sicking up or casting an extremely satisfying _Reducto_.

Once there, Ginny flung herself down on the ancient fabric sofa in front of the fire. Gods, there were moments, times like these, when she was absolutely certain Tom was still in her head. Anger had plagued her since the first day Tom’s diary had found its way into her hands, and, although the book was long gone, and she was aware of what was happening, she was powerless to stop it.

She sighed.

But what was she going to do about Harry? When he wasn’t ignoring her, or flirting with Tonks, Harry spoke incessantly about the dangers of trusting Snape and his certainty that Malfoy had taken the Mark. His obsession with becoming part of the Order was driving her mad. Why does he have to treat her the way he does? And why can’t he just relax?

If she could only get Tonks out of the way, the rest of it would fall away, too.

And once that happened, Harry would focus back on her. She was certain of it.  

***

The smell of beef stew saturated the Black Family home, provoking Fred and George to pace at the edge of the kitchen. Ginny’s stomach growled. When had she eaten last? She wasn’t sure. Maybe she’d been too distracted thinking about Harry to remember to eat.

“Dinner,” mum called in the direction of the stairs, swiveling toward the twins as a spell ladled the stew. “Fred. George. Go tell Ron and Harry that dinner is ready.”

Fred and George disappeared from the kitchen in two consecutive POPS. Mum shook her head and muttered something into the air that Ginny couldn’t quite hear.

“Help me set the table, Ginny dear,” she said as she bent to check the rolls in the oven. Fred and George reappeared and the rapid footfall on the stairs announced that Ron and Harry were just a few steps behind.

A moment later, Remus and Tonks emerged from the hallway, fingers threaded together. Tonks was not her usual, exuberant self; she appeared skiddish, as if she were unsure she should be in the room. Her puffy, red eyes darted around the kitchen, never meeting anyone’s eye, finally resting on Remus’s hand entwined in hers. Remus moved slowly, his gentle, measured pace purposefully encouraging her. They settled in at the table across from Ginny.

Maybe they’d been fighting. Ginny couldn’t find herself groused enough to care.

She focused on Harry, who had taken a seat at the table. “Hey, Harry,” Ginny said, with a tentative smile.

“Hey.”

“How’s it going?”

“Fine.”

Ron passed the bread basket to Harry, who took it absently.

“I made the rolls. Do you like that kind?”

Harry stared at his plate. “Sure.”

Ginny watched Harry dissect a roll until it was clear he was avoiding her eye. She bit back a sigh. Left with nothing to do but eat, she turned her attention to her own meal, and the couple across from her.

Ginny blinked. For a moment, while Tonks was glancing at Remus, she’d have sworn Tonks’s eyes had been green. A breath later, the skin on Tonks’s hand lightened, her fingers lengthened, and freckles appeared on her skin.

Remus paled.

The two locked eyes, Tonks’s irises pleading, and already back to their usual grey. Remus swallowed, and nodded fractionally. Tonks squeezed his hand. Remus smiled at her tightly, breathing through his nose as if he were composing himself.

What the hell?

Others at the table continued with dinner, unaware of the byplay between the witch and wizard across from Ginny. It was a typical meal: her father blathered on about something-or-another at the Ministry; the twins bet Ron they could finish their third helping before he could; her mum scuttled about ensuring everyone had their fill of the stew. Snape and Sirius were absent, with Snape taking his dinner in the library, and Sirius taking his in his room—and both likely far into their cups.

As Ginny was finishing her last bite, her mum and dad disappeared into the library, and Harry fled from the kitchen before she could say goodnight. Alone, she cleared the table and started on the dishes—as was expected—and by the time she was finished, Ginny was exhausted.

“Ginny, dear, time for bed,” her mum called from down the hall.

“I’ll go up in a sec.” Ginny spelled the broom to sweep and ascended the stairs, each stair making her more envious of her brothers’ Apparition licenses. As she approached the third floor, she could hear her usually soft spoken DADA professor in the hall. He sounded furious.

“Stop it, Dora!”

“I thought if you could see her, you might get over her…” Just like Remus, Tonks didn’t sound at all like herself. Her voice cracked and pleaded.

Ginny cast a Disillusion spell and peeked around the partially open door to his room.

“You can’t! You just…can’t!” Remus snarled. “What if someone noticed?” He slammed the Firewhisky in his hand onto the top of the nightstand. It exploded in a shower of glass shards and amber liquid.

Out on the landing, Ginny jumped.

“I just thought…” Tonks whispered, backing into the low dresser. The attached mirror shook.

Remus seemed to collapse, the scowl on his face softening. He crossed the room to her, pulling Tonks to his chest. As they clung to each other, Tonks’ hair lengthened and straightened, transforming from a short, ash-brown into a long, fiery red. Remus glanced at the dresser mirror behind them, his gaze drinking in the witch in his arms dressed in another woman’s hair. He sighed, buried his face the shiny, red strands, and began to weep.

Tonks let him cry.

Just as Ginny was about to turn away, Remus tenderly cupped Tonks’s face in his hands. Tonks’s skin paled, freckles materialized, and her nose sharpened. The irises of her swollen eyes shifted to jade. Reluctance seemed to melt off the wizard’s face; he sighed and tilted her head to kiss her deeply.

Ginny felt Remus’s magic ward the door as it closed, his arms encircling the only other person she knew of who had hair exactly like hers.

***

“Whatcha doing?”

Ginny glanced up from yesterday’s _Prophet_ in time to see Harry plunking down uncomfortably close to Tonks on the far side of the library. She’d been waiting for him for the better part of an afternoon, hoping to talk, but the only one who had ventured into the shabby room recently was Kreacher, muttering about blood traitors and his precious former mistress. Now that Harry had finally appeared, it seemed unlikely that Ginny would be able to capture his attention anytime soon.

“I’m researching ways to prevent me from changing—well, more like ways to keep me in a morphed state for a longer amount of time,” Tonks said with a bright smile. “It takes a lot of energy and concentration, and I can blow it if I’m distracted.” She placed a bookmark at her page, closed the ancient book on her lap with a _snap_ , and placed it on the table next to her. “You know, in case I need to go deep undercover,” she waggled her eyebrows at Harry suggestively.

Ginny couldn’t imagine Tonks reading anything pithier than a Muggle comic. And there was something about Tonks’s redirection that suggested the reason she was reading that book had nothing to do with her job as an Auror. If she had needed to research something like that, she’d be at the Ministry Archives, not here at Twelve, Grimmauld. Whatever was going on with Remus was a much more likely candidate.

“Do you often need to go deep undercover?” Harry countered.

Ginny did not like the way he stressed the words _deep undercover_. At all.

“You never know. You need to be prepared for _anything_ as an Auror.”

Ginny pursed her lips. Merlin, why does Tonks have to continually flirt with Harry? Isn’t having Remus enough? Why does she have to have Harry drooling after her, too?

“Anything at all, eh? Sounds like _that_ could be fun.”

Tonks laughed. “How about a Butterbeer?” she asked. “I could use a break.”

“Let’s.” Harry and Tonks left, Tonks colliding into the doorframe as they exited. Ginny could hear them giggling in the hall on the way to the kitchen.

A break from what? Ginny crossed the room to examine Tonks’s abandoned book, letting it fall open to the page where she had been reading. To her surprise, it was a potions text—a rather advanced potions text, actually. The title had faded into unintelligibility. She turned it over in her hand, the cracked and crumbling binding producing flakes of leather falling to her feet like dirty snow.

“ _Gemino_.” She tucked her copy under an arm and headed up the stairs. Once locked in her room, Ginny curled herself up in bed. She found the page Tonks had been studying.

**_Should a Metamorphmagus desire to remain in a changed form for an extended period of time without effort—and without expending a substantial amount of energy—a brew of saltpetre, chameleon tail, re’em blood, nightshade, moly, and hemlock may be used. Detailed instructions on the preparation and dosage of the potion are found below._ **

**_Please use with due caution. Once taken, the draught decreases all magical function until the effects of the potion wear off._ **

Ginny clicked the book shut. _Well, isn’t that interesting._ _What a great way to feed Remus’s desire for the dead wife of his best mate. If Harry ever saw Tonks look like that, he’d freak…what if Harry…_

Busy thoughts occupied her until she drifted off to sleep, the ancient potions book open across her chest.

***

“Finish up the dishes, would you, Ginny dear?” With those words, her mum slipped away into the sitting room, in search of a sit down with her dad. Harry had begged off dinner, and Fred and George were Merlin-knows-where; most of the adults had been sullen and distant, as if the Order had received a bout of bad news earlier in the day. It had made for a very long, very boring evening.

Sighing, Ginny turned to the sink. Sure, it might be worthwhile to brush up on her household charms at some point—maybe, you know, after _the war_ was over—but it was the last thing she wanted tonight.

As she muttered the first spell, Tonks stumbled into the kitchen, and began wandering around the long wood table aimlessly. _This evening just keeps getting better and better._ Ginny tried not to roll her eyes. _First the dishes, now Tonks._

“So, Ginny…how’s Harry been lately?”

Ginny focused on a soapy dish floating under a steady stream of water from the faucet, and tried to ignore Tonks’s bright pink-tipped hair and knowing smirk behind the question.

“Why do you ask?” Ginny muttered, concentrating on the next plate.

“I thought you two were…I don’t know…a thing.”

Ginny bit down a derisive snort and glanced at the witch next to her. Fucking idiot. Merlin, if _she_ could appear in any form she wanted, she certainly wouldn’t choose to walk around looking like _Tonks._ “A thing? Really? Shows how much you know.”

Tonks’s eyes widened fractionally at Ginny’s tone. “I just thought—”

“You just ‘thought’? Maybe you should be ‘thinking’ a little less about Harry all the time!”

“Ginny—”

“Why do you—” She swatted a cabinet shut. “Aren’t you with Remus? Do you have to have Harry, too?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Just forget it!”

Before she realized what she was doing, Ginny was running out the front door—slamming it behind her for good measure—and down a side alley adjacent to Grimmauld Place. Merlin, it felt fucking fabulous to be free of the house and out in the fresh air, even if it were for just a moment. In the oppressive dirt and smell and grey of Twelve, Grimmauld, everything seemed wrong, disjointed, and out of kilter.

It was not only this _thing_ between Tonks and Harry that was gnawing at her; there were plenty of other _things_ , too. Sirius and Snape were constantly at each other’s throats. Her mum’s heavy-handed parenting embarrassed her, and she was constantly being overlooked, even though her magic was stronger than any of her brothers’.

Harry was no better. Once, he’d said that he was avoiding her in order to keep safe, but she’d witnessed the appraising looks he’d given other girls, including Tonks, as if they were infinitely more interesting than she was. Hell, he’d dismiss Ginny just to spend hours alone with Hermione doing Merlin-knows-what.

Then she had a thought that simultaneously made her want to sick up and spit in fury: what if Tonks used her potion to stay in the form of anyone Harry desired? What if it were Hermione? Or Cho?

It was simply too much.

Merlin, she was losing him. And she needed to fix that.

She’d spend a bit of time out here in the fresh air, and some plan would come to her. Except for Tonks, no one had even noticed her leaving, anyway.  

Ginny was in the middle of congratulating herself on slipping away unnoticed when she heard someone approaching, and suddenly felt herself surrender to the darkness.

***

Ginny didn’t know if it was the icy cold or the fetid smell that brought her back to consciousness. Both were all encompassing, as if heat and fresh air had vanished from memory. She blinked slowly—the pain radiating from the back of her head didn’t allow her anything more than that measured, deliberate pace. It hardly mattered. There wasn’t quite enough light to see beyond the ancient bars of a prison cell bound tightly against her escape. The dungeon melted into complete darkness only yards away, making the space seem immense.

Her entire body hurt.

She realized she was lying on a dirt encrusted floor. But where?

She gingerly rolled to her side and drew her knees to her stomach; they scraped along the rough floor, the denim sticking in the uneven stone. Wrapping an arm around her legs, she suppressed a shiver, and tried to fight the nausea that threatened to empty her stomach.

She craned her neck to look around. Except for the floor, the stonemason work was as fine as any she had ever seen, delicate and precise, outclassing even Hogwarts. Carved into the center of an arch opening into a rising stairway was a family crest: dragons and serpents surrounding a large letter M. The crest stared down, perfect and ostentatious, as if the relief were puffing with a haughty air.

Of course. She was a _guest_ a Malfoy Manor.

Apparently, even the stone gloats when the Malfoy Family has you for a prisoner.

After a few moments on her side, Ginny slowly rose to seated, again pulling her knees to her chest once she was upright. Although they were filthy, thankfully her clothes were intact. Hunger and thirst began to speak through the pain.

How long had she been here?

She thinned her lips in frustration. What had she been thinking, going outside of Twelve, Grimmauld alone, as if it wasn’t constantly under the scrutiny of a handful Death Eaters? It was stupid. A bloody stupid decision that had gotten her caught and trapped her here.

Well, there would be time enough for self-recrimination later. Right now, she had to figure out a way to escape.

“ _Alohomora_.”

Nothing. She hadn’t really expected the wandless to work, but it was worth a try. The wards suppressing magic felt impenetrable. House elf, she supposed. No surprise there.

She glanced around; nothing nearby could be used to aid her.

Wait. What was…?

There, near the corner of the vast cell across from her, the black seemed to _move_.

And the darkness was… _familiar_ somehow.

It took her a minute of desperate concentration to discern that the writhing and pulsing across from her was a twist of spiders, rats, and bugs. It rose and fell, frothy and swirling, following the path of faint footsteps coming from directly above it. As the footfalls came closer, the mass approached, a ball of perceptibly deeper inky-black cloud that smelled of rotting flesh. It made her skin crawl.

Tom was here. And slowly pacing the floor above her.

And apparently, he was lecturing someone.

Ginny reeled back from the pulsing darkness only to collide with the stone wall behind her. Straining to hear the voice that used to live inside her head, she couldn’t quite decipher most of what Tom was saying, until one word rang out clearly over and over again:

_“Crucio!”_

***

Several hours later—although Ginny wasn’t certain exactly how long had passed, since she had slipped into unconsciousness again—she awoke to the sound of a weight thumping down the stone stairs of the dungeon. As her eyes became reacquainted with the darkness of her prison, Ginny watched as the knot of fabric, hair, and flesh resolved itself into the shape of a man. He moaned.

_Still alive, then. Not just a body, thank Merlin._

The man attempted to stand and nearly failed, swaying, until he pushed himself toward the far wall, only to lean heavily on it. Black robes. Tall. Dark eyes and a large nose.

Snape.

_Fuck._

And he’d been beaten. Badly.

He considered her with unfocused eyes.

“Lily,” he mumbled. “Oh, Lily…” Snape took a long swallow from a bottle that had been hidden in his robes and had, impossibly, remained unbroken in the fall. “He caught you…” He slumped, and slid down the stone wall to meet the unforgiving floor.

And in the hours an unconscious Snape lay twitching on the cold stone, an idea had took hold in Ginny’s mind. An irrational, dangerous, bloody _stupid_ idea. But an idea just the same—one that might gain her freedom from the Malfoy dungeon, and, at the same time, solve her most annoying problem.

***

When Snape’s eyes first reopened, he convulsed—aftereffects of the _Cruciatus_ , Ginny supposed. He studied her while his body twitched intermittently, his fathomless black eyes pinning her to cold floor of her prison as if his gaze alone could prevent her from disappearing.

“Lily?” he whispered.

_Oh, what the hell. Why not?_

“I’m not Lily,” she said, trying to swallow. “But if you promise to get me out of here, I’ll tell you where she is.”

***

When Ginny awoke, she was alone. Snape had disappeared without a word the moment she’d proposed her bargain, and in the wake of his departure, by herself in the darkness, she wondered if she had played her hand too quickly. Certainly Snape would discover her deception, wouldn’t he?  

It was a few hours before she heard the scrape of wood against stone, and the tread of irregular footsteps descending the stairs. Snape came to rest before the iron bars of her cell, surveying her with a disdainful sneer. Although he was limping, he looked better than he had, as if he’d been dosed with a considerable amount of Dittany.

“She’s dead,” he said flatly, without preamble. He seemed to have trouble forming words. Perhaps he was drunk. Perhaps lasting injuries prevented him to speaking clearly.

“She’s not.”

“You lie,” he snarled.

“I’m not lying, Professor,” Ginny said, summoning her courage. “I’ve seen her. She…she visits Remus sometimes.”

He snorted derisively. “Without a doubt.” He squinted his eyes and took a long swallow from a nearly-empty bottle. He stumbled step closer, and, for a moment, she was glad for the thick bars between them. “Prove it.”

Like sandpaper thrust into her mind, Snape’s Legilimency abraded her consciousness like grit, plowing through her thoughts without care, and leaving a tender burn in its wake. She knew what to do, though; Tom had gifted her much more than an old diary and piss-poor attitude. He’d taught her how to Occlude.

And, more importantly, how to show an intruder exactly what he wanted to see.

So, instead of trying to bar Snape’s intrusion, Ginny beckoned him further in, feeding his probe the memory of Tonks dressed in Lily’s skin. She offered images of Lily kissing Remus passionately; Lily’s slender fingers carding Remus’s hair; Lily moaning in pleasure as he deepened his kiss; Remus’s door clicking shut as the lovers stumbled toward his bed.

Snape broke the link and turned away, only to empty his stomach on the cold stone at his feet.

***

“You will lead me to Lily Evans in exchange for your freedom.”

Snape’s words startled her: the relentless cold and clawing hunger had yielded to her exhaustion, and Ginny had fallen asleep. She blinked and did her best to stand.

“I need three days,” Ginny said, swallowing hard under his dark stare. “Three to make sure she’ll be there to meet you.”

Snape unlocked her cage with a silent ripple of his fingers, and waived her out, seemingly disgusted at his own actions. He led her to the top of the stairs, stopped, and Apparated them both away. She found herself deposited just inside the foyer at Grimmauld, Snape’s hand still gripping her arm viciously.

“I’ll send my Patronus,” she replied, wincing at his grip.

“Miss Weasley has returned,” he called over his shoulder. “Three days,” he whispered in a gruff voice, the dark in his eyes icy. “That’s all you have.”

The sound of her mother’s yelp of relief and consequent thunderous footfall down the stairs masked the sound of Snape twisting away.

***

“Thank Merlin you’re safe!” Her mum pulled back from a hug to examine her sharply. Ginny winced as her mum’s hands squeezed her arms where Snape had restrained her moments ago. “When Severus said he’d be able to free you—”

Fred and George tumbled into the foyer, and dislodged Ginny from her mum’s hold. After the tumult of greetings congratulating her on her escape, and her repeated assurances that she was unhurt, they started their questions.

“How’d Snape get you out?” Fred asked. “Why’d you go outside?”

“Did you see him?” George asked. “Did you see You-know-who?”

“Where is he?” her mum interjected, looking around.

“Who?” Ginny said.

“Severus, dear.”

“He Apparated, I don’t know where.” Ginny smiled weakly. “Look, Mum, I’m tired and I’d love a shower. Maybe some food after that?”

“Of course, dear,” her mum said, squeezing her hand. “Just promise me that you won’t ever scare us like that again.”

“I promise,” she said, and turned to slowly climb the stairs, her thoughts on the task she had to complete in the next three days.

***

Although her mum had kept her seated at the wooden table until she had cleared two generous helpings, by eleven p.m., Ginny was hungry again. She roamed down the stairs to the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise. When she arrived, Tonks was standing near the sink, staring into space. 

Ginny Disillusioned herself but remained in the doorway as Tonks cast a _Tempus_ , pulled a phial out of her jacket pocket, downing its contents in one swallow, and left to ascend the stairs. Confident the noise of Kreacher’s grousing would hide her footsteps in the stairwell, Ginny followed, stopping below the landing to Remus’s room.

As she stood outside the closed door, Tonks shut her eyes. Ginny watched, transfixed, as the witch transformed herself into Lily Potter.

Tonks knocked softly. Remus appeared and stared, then opened the door wide for her to enter.

_Time to call Snape._

 

* * *

**Part 3: Severus**

He was losing his mind.

He was certain of it, now. There had been a time—even a time recently—where he had thought his sanity would survive his master’s _Crucios_ unscathed. Now he knew that not to be true.

Because he’d seen her.

Yes, _yes_ , he’d been mistaken after being tossed down the stairs into the dungeon like garbage after hours of torture at his master’s hand. How could anyone blame him for the error? He’d been thoroughly wasted and _Crucio’d_ savagely. But the little Weasley bitch had given up her memories, hadn’t she, revealing the secret that Lupin had been hiding these long years. And when the little bitch had said that in return for her freedom, she would bring Lily to him, how could he say no?

_Lily wasn’t dead._

Merlin, what if all he had done, all that he had suffered, was for a reason that didn’t even exist?

It was madness. All of it.

He’d spent the last two days studying the bottom of a bottle of Ogden’s—well, truth be told, many bottles of Ogden’s—preparing to see her. _Preparing_.

He was nervous. What would she do when she saw him? What would he say to her? What would she say to him?

And why had she hidden herself for so long, knowing her son survived?

Was it some ploy that he wasn’t privy to, something that he didn’t yet understand? Some double-agent mind-fuck that he still couldn’t see, orchestrated by the Old Man?

There were so, so many questions. But the one that had bubbled to the surface repeatedly, causing him to both seethe with fury, and weep like an abandoned child, was: _How could Lily have done this to me?_

Pathetic.

He took another deep swallow of Firewhisky, hoping the alcohol would wash down the bile that had risen in back of his throat. He vaguely wondered if he would be successful in keeping down the sick and the little opiate mix he’d swallowed.

He hoped so. He desperately needed the concoction to dull the agony that made his nerves feel like they were folding in on themselves; his master had _Crucio’d_ him nearly to the point of death when Ginevra had been found missing. It was the worst torture he’d ever experienced. But he’d expected that, hadn’t he? And he’d endured it, certainly. He’d endure anything to see Lily again.

And if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that what he had seen in her memories was real. There was no way a student—even one with the potential of Ginevra’s—would be able to create such sharp, clear images from just her imagination. He could even hear the sound of Lily’s sighs as she kissed the monster.

No one could create a deception so complete that it could fool Severus Snape.

_Fuck, why had he never thought to look in Lupin’s memories?_

The last thought flitted around his mind and by the time he examined it, he realized that he had been afraid of what else he might find there.

When the little Weasley bitch’s silvery horse finally appeared hours later, the sitting room at Spinner’s End eddied and blurred around it, and Severus realized he was a lot further in his cups than he first thought.

“It’s time,” Ginevra’s voice said. “She’s here. I’ll be waiting for you in the library. I’ll take you to her.”

Despite the cocktail of painkillers in his system, he managed to stand and twist into the air the way his master had taught him, coming to land in the alley near Twelve, Grimmauld. Forcing his feet to move, he succeeded in gaining the building’s front steps without falling, all the while ignoring his fellow Death Eater keeping watch from across the street.

He stumbled into the foyer. The bitch was waiting, apparently too anxious to remain in the library until he arrived.

“She’s upstairs, in Remus’s room. Listen, Professor, she’ll try to lie to you and say she’s someone else, but she—”

At the curl of his lip, the little irritant stopped speaking and backed away as if afraid. Silently, he turned and headed unsteadily up the stairs to stand eye to eye with his fate.

***

A simple _Alohomora_ gained him entry to Lupin’s room, the force of his spell destroying the doorknob. The door opened to swing wildly on its ancient hinges before hitting the wall behind it with a crash.

They were in bed. The werewolf and his beautiful flower were in bed. One of Lily’s slender arms was positioned above her head, her palm flat against the wall behind her. Her other hand gripped the werewolf’s skinny, bare arse as he pumped into her, his teeth bared. Her eyes were closed and she was whimpering like a whore.

Why was he not at all surprised?

“You fucking bastard.” He was half way across the room before the two disengaged, a rictus of shock fixed to both of their faces, Lily’s lips forming a tiny o of surprise.

Lupin stood, blinking slowly, as if he were trying to adjust to the sudden light flooding in from the hall. He yanked at part of the duvet to cover his bare skin, moving away from Lily in an effort to place himself between Severus and the bed. “I don’t know what you think you’re seeing here, but it’s not what you think, Severus.”

 _“Accio_ wand,” Severus muttered, and both Lupin and Lily’s wands spun into his waiting hand. He trained his own on Lupin’s chest while Lily tried to hide behind a thin sheet that had been tossed aside.

“It’s not what I think?” Severus sneered. “And exactly what is it that I think, werewolf?”

Lupin froze. “Dora, show him that it’s you. That it’s not her.” The feigned calm in his voice, coupled with his steady stare, made Severus want to tear the beast apart with his bare hands.

“I can’t.” She glanced at the back of the werewolf’s head and swallowed thickly. “I took a potion, and I can’t change back. Not for another two and a half hours.”

“Why—” Lupin began.

“Lies,” Severus spat. “She said you would lie.” Severus swayed, trying to keep upright, the pain and alcohol and the drug battling for dominance.

“She?” The werewolf’s head cocked to the side like a dog’s, as if he were trying to decipher an especially difficult puzzle. “Who?”

Severus had no idea why he suddenly wanted—no, _needed_ —to see the abomination’s thoughts, but he did. He steeled himself for a delve into the werewolf’s mind, but precise, benign Legilimency seemed a thing he could not keep hold of; it kept sliding away as if it were wet and oily, coated with opiate. A callous, violent intrusion was all that he could manage at the moment.

_Fuck it._

Snape pushed in, rifling brutally through Lupin’s mind, scouring memories for images of Lily. The monster’s mind was a jumble of lust, suppressed jealousy, and gratitude, interspersed with an overwhelming need to _take_ and _bite_ ; the memories were imbued with overwhelming aromas that made Severus want to salivate.

Fucking werewolf.

He’d been inside for only a few short seconds before Lupin shoved him out with a grunt as if he were hefting a weight, securing his mind with a jaw-like snap.

No matter. He’d seen enough.

“Severus, try to understand!” Lupin began. “She might look like Lily, but it’s not—”

That was plenty from the werewolf.

 _“Stupify!”_ he roared.

As Lupin crumpled into a heap, Lily flew toward him, screaming, _“Remus!”_ Before she could reach him, Severus locked his hand around her tiny wrist and Apparated them both home.

* * *

 

**Part 4: Tonks**

They had barely finished twisting when Severus muttered an _Incarcerous,_ binding Tonks to a lumpy, ancient brown sofa. He tossed a wool throw over her naked skin and stalked out of the room.

Auror training or no, she’d been captured, by a dangerously irrational double-agent. And she’d ceded her one advantage—her ability to take the form of anyone she pleased—to her desire for Remus and his affection.

Tonks glanced around and attempted a silent spell. The potion she’d taken slid across her magic and evaporated it before it could coalesce into reality. She glanced at her fingers. Still Lily’s. And they would be that way for a while yet.

_Dammit._

The room around her looked decidedly Muggle, and, while not exactly in a state of disrepair, it appeared as neglected as Twelve, Grimmauld. Everything was threadbare and old: faded orange curtains clung limply to the windows; a timeworn rug sat morosely underfoot; crumbling leather-bound books, huddled in flimsy wooden shelves, lined the far wall.

By the time her captor finally returned to the sitting room, Tonks was shivering underneath the scratchy wool. Although it did nothing to keep her warm, she was thankful that it prevented her from exposing herself. He started to pace.

“Why?” he whispered, coming to rest in front of her.

“I’m not Lily,” she said levelly, leaving his question hanging in the air between them, unanswered. “You know me, Severus. I’m Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks. I’d show you, but I can’t change back right—”

“Shut up,” he snapped. “Tell me why you pretended to die.”

“I’m not—“

 _“Tell me why!”_ he roared.

She winced as the magical bonds encircling her wrists and ankles tightened in conjunction with his fury, and stared at her captor in silence.

He ran a shaking hand through his hair and collapsed into the shabby chair across from her. “I saw you…I went there…that night…” His voice cracked. “You have no idea what’s that like, do you? Losing the one person in the entire world that means anything at all to you? To see their lifeless eyes…to hold their cold body…”

His dark eyes were wild and focused on a long past memory as he wept.

After a long moment, Severus rose to settle beside her on the sofa, the weight of his tall frame sinking the cushions and pulling her toward him. She tried to stare straight ahead.

“But you’re here now. You never left,” he said softly.

The tip of his finger brushed her chin and gently traced the edge of her jaw. It traveled down her neck, drawing back the throw to expose her left breast. She shuddered. To her horror, her nipple responded to his fingernail as he lightly traced a path underneath it.

“Your body still remembers mine, Lily,” he whispered.

“Don’t touch me.”

“You spent all those years sharing their beds, and they turned you into their whore. That was what you wanted. I’m surprised I didn’t find Black in there tonight enjoying himself, too. Or was I a little too early to the party, slut?” he said, his voice never rising, his lips curled in a smirk.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Don’t—”

“I’m not going to hurt you. You know I’d never hurt you. You know I’m not like that, Lily.”

“If you use Legilimency on me, you’d see I’m not Lily Potter.”

“I have no desire to witness you living your life without me,” he said quietly. “Besides, I do not think even someone as deranged as Lupin would willingly participate in that magnitude of self-deception.”

“I’m not Lily Potter.”

“Yes. Yes, you are. Maybe you use Evans now, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. But you _are_ Lily. You married Potter, even though you were fucking all of them. I knew. But I still had hope, didn’t I? Hope that you would grow tired of being their whore. Hope that you would see what bloody arseholes they always were. And hope that you would forgive me for what I said to you after we broke up…”

Severus gently stroked a length of straight red hair. “You look the same as I remember. Your hair…Merlin, it’s been years, but it feels the same. Exactly the same.”

Tonks steeled herself against his touch, sucking in a breath as she fought the panic that had taken hold in her chest. “Don’t touch me,” she managed through clenched teeth.

“You never had a problem with it before.” He withdrew his hand. “From the little I’ve seen, you rather like it when the werewolf touches you. I could touch you just like he does. I could.”

She didn’t bother to reply.

A tremor raked through his body. “Fuck,” he murmured, more to himself than Tonks. He stood to retrieve a small phial from a pocket within his robes, drinking it in one swallow.

Within a minute, the spasms in his fingers seemed to subside.

Severus settled back down next to her, close enough for his frockcoat to fall open over her knees. With a wave of his fingers, he released one of her hands from the bonds, and pulled it to his mouth to tease her wrist with his teeth; she yanked it away and slapped him across the face—hard. In response, he roared with laughter, his breath heavy with Firewhisky and something else she couldn’t discern.

She trembled.

He leaned in and took a deep breath. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”

Before she could form another thought, he captured her wrist again. Smirking, he turned her hand over and drew it to his mouth. A warm tongue swept up her palm, slowly, deliberately, as he watched her, his dark eyes slid closed in pleasure. She wrenched her hand away and struck him again. Chuckling, he rose, and touched the mark on his face reverently, as if she had kissed it instead of slapped it.

“Oh, Lily,” he managed through mounting laughter. “You _do_ remember our little game, don’t you? How you used to pretend you didn’t want it. You would try to get away, and I would chase you, and you would fight until I caught you. You loved it, didn’t you? Pretending that you were innocent and I was the brute to claim and subdue you. You would struggle, but it was all part of our little game, wasn’t it? You liked me holding you down, pulling your hair, and fucking you oh-so-very hard. That’s what we’re going to do tonight, isn’t it, Lil?”

He stood as if to leave the room, but as he turned to go, his eyes widened. Swaying, fell back into the chair across from her. “Too much,” he murmured and slid into unconsciousness, the empty phial rolling away from his open hand.

***

Tonks released a jittery breath and studied the still, black form of Severus Snape. She tried to drive the echo of his words out of her mind by working on a plan to escape. Otherwise, she might give in to the mounting panic that threatened.

Tonks tried her bonds again. Still secure.

Okay, if she was lucky, Severus would remain unconscious until she could change back to herself again. If she was _really_ lucky, Remus and the other Order members would figure out where she was and free her before then. And that would happen any moment now. Any moment...as long as they could find her.

Well, if she had to guess, she was likely in Severus’s childhood home. From what she knew of the man, it fit. Maybe Remus knows where Severus grew up? Maybe—

Severus stirred. Tonks glanced down at her hands: her fingers were still not her own.

_Shite. Too soon._

He raised his head and trained bleary eyes on her. “The _Cruciatus_ ,” he said, as if in apology. “I need to…take a nerve potion to…calm the aftereffects and sometimes…” He trailed off, his pale skin flushing at his confession. “…it’s hard to dose precisely.”

He stared at her, as if waiting for a reply. She gave him none.

After a moment, he rose, unsteadily, and limped over to her. “Lily—”

“I’m _not_ Lily.”

“I just want…I don’t know…I just want us to be together again. Now that I know you aren’t dead, I don’t think I can live without you again.”

“You’re not yourself. Whatever potion you took is interfering with your reasoning. I’m not Lily. I’m Nymphadora Tonks, and Remus will come for me, because he is in love with _me_ , Nymphadora Tonks, not Lily Potter.” The last was uttered as if speaking the words aloud helped ensure they were true.

“It’s a great cover—a truly great story, but I know that it’s you, Lily.” He chuckled. “Ask me how I know.”

Tonks set her lips in a thin line.

 _“Ask me!”_ he roared. Veins bulged in his neck and spittle peppered her face.

“How do you know?” she whispered.

“You were in his bed. Trust me, he would never let _Nymphadora Tonks_ into his bed,” he scoffed, laughing. “The werewolf was in love with Lily. He’d always been in love with Lily. Since the first day he met her, he wanted her. He adored her. There were plenty of sick fucks that threw themselves at the monster over the years, bloody idiots that wanted to taste the dark, _wanted_ the werewolf to bite them. He might take a witch for a tumble or two—only if she had red hair, that is—to get a few hard fucks out of her. He rejected all them in the end. Always.”

Tonks closed her eyes against the tears that threatened.

“He only ever wanted you, Lily. Ever. He’s said as much to me, and anyone who would listen, including the rest of his fucking arsehole friends. Give him a few Firewhiskys, and he’ll wax on for hours about his continued devotion to you. How he could never love anyone else. How falling in love with someone else would be a betrayal to you. How you two were soulmates, or some other such idiocy.” He snorted derisively. “As if you gave a shite back. You used the fucker for his bed.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks.

“I know it’s you,” he repeated in a whisper. A fingertip caressed her upper arm, barely grazing her skin, sending gooseflesh fleeing in its wake. Rancid breath drifted through her hair as he nuzzled her ear. “What do you say to exploring my old room?”

She fought the sick that rose in her throat. As her hands began to shake, she noticed something deeper, something tickling the center of her spine. It wasn’t Severus’s unwanted touch. An itch, maybe, triggered by the fabric of the couch? No. Wait…

“Severus?” she said quietly. “Before we…do you mind getting me a drink? Firewhisky, maybe?”

A heavy gaze lingered on her mouth; he licked his lips. “Of course.” He stumbled into what she presumed to be the kitchen. Glasses clinked, cabinets closed. Tonks looked down at her hands to see that her skin was darkening and the freckles were fading.

She tried to summon her magic again. It regarded her sleepily then ignored her.

Almost there.

Another minute or two was all she needed.

“May I have ice in mine?” she called.

“Certainly.”

Severus returned, coming to stand in front of her, presenting two generous tumblers of Firewhisky. She met his dark eyes, only to see his widen in shock. He fell backward, flailing, until he collided with the chair across from her, the glasses hitting the floor and rolling away.

She looked down. Her skin was her own.

“No! NO!” A sob escaped from him, a sound so wretched and broken that pity for the man tugged at her, even through her disgust.

The bonds vanished.

The front door gave way to the sound of snapping, splinters careening into the room in a confetti of dust and shredded wood. Tonks glanced up to see Remus falling into the place where the door used to be.

“ _Stupify!”_ he roared, and Severus slumped into the shabby carpet. “Dora!” Remus slid to the floor on his knees in front of her. “Are you hurt?”

Tonks regarded the wizard at her feet, his sandy hair askew and his button up inside out, as if he had dressed quickly and carelessly. The concern in his eyes overwhelmed her.

But the absence of love in those eyes didn’t surprise her.

“I’m okay, Remus. Just…just give me a minute.” With a shaking hand, she transfigured the wool blanket into a high-necked, long sleeved dress. She glanced around and shivered one last time.

“Do you want me to call the Auror Office? Or the DLE?”

“Aurors.” She set her lips in a grim line. “I think that’s for the best.”

Remus stood, brushing off his pants. “I’ll stay until they get here,” he said, nodding at the prone form of Severus Snape. “But you don’t have to. As soon as they get here, I can Apparate you to Grimmauld,” he said. “We can side-along.”

“I can make it back myself right now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll tell them where to find you for questions.” Remus pulled her into a brief hug. “I’ll see you at Grimmauld.”

 

* * *

 

**Epilogue: Three Days Later**

Tonks knew this was just another one of her stupid ideas. But, like most of the other stupid ideas she had, she couldn’t ignore it.

She was about to answer a summons from the wizard who had abducted her.

The thing was, even before receiving the owl post from Severus Snape, she knew she wanted to see him once before facing him in front the Wizengamot.

After striding across the Ministry foyer thick with witches and wizards, she entered the gated elevator to descend to the floor where she spent most of her weekdays. Once the elevator stopped, she made her way down the corridor to the desk where she was scheduled to meet her fellow Auror, Adam Jacobs.

“Hey Tonks,” he said, looking up from his desk as she approached.

“Hey Adam,” she said, gifting him a smile in return.

“He’s in 31C.”

“Gotcha.”

Together, they walked down the hall to the interview room, the only sound the _snick snick snick_ of their boots echoing against the black marble walls. She tried to quell the unease in her bones as they reached 31C.

“I’ll be right outside the door,” he said.

“Right.”

She experienced a momentary twinge of fear when Jacobs closed the door to the tiny room, trapping her inside with Severus Snape. Her fear was unnecessary: his wrists were bound to a metal table top, and his ankles were bound to the chair where he was seated. And no wandless from prisoners worked here.

_“Do you want to press charges? It’s entirely up to you, Ms Tonks.”_

“You wanted to see me,” she said, ignoring the chair that had been placed across from him, and the memory of his arraignment that had fought its way to the forefront of her mind.

He looked up through limp hair, his face devoid of expression. “I appreciate you coming.”

She waited.

_“Kidnapping an Auror is a serious offense, Mr Snape.”_

He swallowed thickly. “I wanted to apologize.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she said, uncertain exactly how to respond.

_“I would like to press charges.”_

He watched her for a minute, fathomless black eyes wide and unblinking.

“Have you ever had someone taken away from you before you could tell them that you were truly sorry for something you did or something you said?”

She smiled sadly. “No.”

“I just…I never got to tell her…I…” He trailed off, and seemed to steel himself so that he would be able to continue. “Please know that I am truly sorry for what happened. I just wish…I just wish I could have said that too her, too.”

The interview room’s door swung wide, and Jacobs stepped inside, his heels clicking on the shiny floor. “That’s all the time allowed, Mr Snape. Miss Tonks? This way, please.”

“Wait,” she said.

Years later, when she would think back on this moment, she would never be able to articulate exactly _why_ she chose to do what she did. Perhaps it was because she was certifiable. Perhaps it was because she felt pity for the man. Perhaps it was because she knew what it was like to want someone who would never, ever return your love.

Perhaps she believed, naively, that even depraved and broken fuck-ups like Severus Snape deserved a way to move on from their shitty past, before they were swallowed by the horrors of Azkaban.

She collected her magic around her and closed her eyes, picturing a photograph that she had held in her hands not so long ago. The sepia image of the entwined lovers became clear in her mind.

The change was easy.

She opened her eyes. Severus’s mouth had fallen open, and after one deep gasp, he began to sob.

“I’m so sorry, Lily. I’m so very, very sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered, placing a delicate hand on top of his as he wept. “I forgive you.”


End file.
